Second Thoughts
by Cynlee
Summary: Splinter questions a few things as he observes his fiveyearolds. One Shot, very short, just a bit of fluff.


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Hi-- a quick one-shot that I whipped up last night while thinking about the original first issue. Would Eastman and Laird do it differently, had they known the comic would take off? I wonder... Oh, yeah, TMNT are the property of those two, Mirage Corp., and not me-- believe me, if I owned them, you would ALL hear about it!

**Second Thoughts**

Raphael vaulted backwards off the balance beam, undid the blindfold, and turned to face his Sensei.

"Very well done, Raphael!" he praised this young turtle, and the young turtle in question beamed with pride. "You have done exceedingly well! I believe that you have earned the prize for today's training."

Raph couldn't contain his grin as he stepped forward and took possession of the remote control and the gold star, careful not to let it stick to his fingers. The remote control was the best, they all agreed, but to Raphael the gold stars that charted their mastery and progress were even more fantastic!

He respectfully and carefully pressed it onto the chart in the row already decorated with many gold stars, the row where his name had been carefully lettered by Master Splinter, standing out in a beautiful, eye-catching scarlet hue.

He tried desperately to not be vain-- Splinter did not tolerate bragging or showing off in the dojo-- but he could see without counting that he was only three stars from catching up with Leonardo in mastering the various lessons, and he could not help it-- he had to laugh with joy!

He immediately swallowed the laugh, turned quickly and bowed to Splinter before the Rat could say anything.

"Forgive me, Sensei! I allowed myself to be weak and prideful for a moment."

Splinter hid his smile as he acknowledged this apology with a nod of his head. He knew how important it was to his son, that he was finally catching up to the "oldest", and he secretly was pleased at Raphael's progress. He was beginning to envision them ten years from now, and though he was pretty sure that Leonardo would end up as the leader, he was more than gratified to know that Raphael would be an excellent second-in-command; someone who would keep Leonardo on his toes by questioning his decisions, yet loyal enough to follow those decisions if proved sound.

For a moment Splinter was lost in thought, "seeing" a future where his sons would be able to protect themselves from the World in general and-- Heavens forbid-- his Personal Enemy in particular.

As he surveyed the sons who were congratulating their brother on today's competition-- indeed, Michelangelo was already offering his older brother a whole multitude of tradeoffs if only Raphael would choose to watch one of his own favorite shows tonight-- he felt a strange melancholy overcome him.

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They are all so young. They are all so helpless. I must admit, when I first set out in this training, I had some vengeful hope that they could avenge your death, my Master... but how can I in all good consciousness continue with that selfish, dangerous idea? They are my children, and I love them too much.

"Sensei?" Donatello's voice cut through his thoughts. The four were squirming, and he could see that Donatello's eyes were on the clock hanging on the wall. He had kept them five whole minutes past the end of the session!

"Yes, I am sorry, my son. You have all done well today. You are dismissed."

Four grateful students bowed as one; then four rambunctious children raced each other out of the dojo, already calling dibs on the bathroom, the couch, the one good chair at the kitchen table...

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I am shameless... I must not allow my own desire for revenge to taint my sons...

I had thought that perhaps, one day, they would do for me what I could not do-- they would exact revenge upon the evil being who killed you, my master...

But they are my sons...

My SONS!

How can I ask them to do what I am unable to do?

Or **am** I unable?

Splinter, watching the five year olds play, argue, fuss, agree, fight, love, and normally interact, knew that there was no way he could ever ask them to do what he required.

Yet he would train them. He would continue to train them-- if not for revenge, at least for protection. They had to be able to hide, to fight, to stay alive-- they saw this now as a glorious adventure; they took for certainty his evil pronouncements of danger to them at the hands of the surface dwellers...

But he knew deep in his soul that someday they would reject this fear, this warning--

this protection--

And they would need everything he could teach them in order to survive.

"Father?" Raphael's voice interrupted his thinking. He'd noticed the disturbed expression, the faraway concentration-- the fear-- on his father at that moment. "Father? Are you okay?"

Splinter, shaking himself, smiled warmly on this blessed child.

"Yes, my son," he answered, placing a hand on the head of this concerned son, and was gratified to see the worry wrinkles, so out of place on such a young face, fade at the paternal touch. "Yes, forgive me. I was just imagining when you were all grown and would not need me any more."

Raphael frowned in almost-anger.

"That will NEVER happen, Father! We will ALWAYS need you!" He responded so fiercely that Splinter was taken aback for a moment; then he smiled hugely, swept this most emotional of his children up in his arms, and swung him around, hugging him for the sheer joy of it.

"If you say so, my son, then I must believe it," he said laughingly, and Hamato Raphael, five year old victor of today's training competition, laughed as if he would never stop laughing, secure in the love of his parent.

Suddenly they came running from all directions with shouts of "Me next! Me next!", and Splinter was busy for the next few minutes "flying" his sons around and around. Then they trouped after him to help prepare for dinner. As he listened to the chatter again, he pushed the future from his mind.

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There is time enough to make final decisions later, he thought, as he began to instruct Michelangelo in the preparation of chicken. _I just pray that I make the right one when the time comes._


End file.
